Getting To Know You
by desina
Summary: Twelfth in the "Ripple of Hope" follow-ups.


**a/n:** Twelfth in our little "Ripple of Hope" follow-up series.

**Getting To Know You**

_"Pick me up at seven," she whispers._

I smile, victorious. "What kind of place?"

"Someplace trendy." The elevator doors open, and she steps out. She pauses, looks back at me, and says, "Oh, and don't wear a suit."

I know exactly what I'll be wearing, but have no idea what she'll wear. I can't worry about that now because Lauren has me scheduled within an inch of my life until 5:30. I try to brush all the good stuff with Kate aside and concentrate on my work, taking extensive phone call notes on a yellow legal pad to make up for the fact that I have the attention span of a senile gnat this afternoon.

My last call ends at 5:45 and I note that Kate's gone. I drop by Leo's desk. "Did Kate leave for the day?"

"Yes, she did. You leaving too?"

"Yep. Got a date." I try not to look as happy as I feel.

"Funny, so does Kate." Leo was trying to pry, but I'm not falling for it.

"Imagine that," I say, trying to sound casual.

On my way out the building, I forgo my car and walk to a souvenir shop a block away, pick up something for Kate, and then return for my car and drive home. I swear, the drive feels like it takes three times as long as normal. My watch disagrees.

I change into designer black jeans, a near-black purple silk shirt, and a black leather fitted jacket that I know makes me look hotter than usual. I call it my prowl jacket because it's gotten me laid more than any other article of clothing. It also hadn't seen the light of day in a year.

I arrive at Lauren's at 6:59 and I see Kate buttoning a coat I've never seen her wear before: royal blue, mid-thigh, and form-hugging. She steps into matching pumps. As she's bent over, I see a flash of a yellow dress under the coat. She picks up a matching blue clutch, then sees that I'm almost to the door.

"Lauren's not home yet, so let's jet. I don't want to have to explain myself to her."

When she enters the restaurant, she turns back to look at me and smiles. I've picked well, at least from her first impression.

I help her with her coat, then see the cut of the yellow dress, which shows more cleavage than I'd seen even during her inattentional blindness demonstration. It's the kind of dress where I'd just secretly beg for a woman to breathe. Just breathe. It's delightfully short, sleeveless, deeply cut with a U-neck, and similarly low-cut in back with criss-cross straps. I consider the topological problems of getting the dress off her: unzip then slip over the head? Seems like that's the only way unless there's some snaps or such under her hair.

I'm transfixed, and she laughs. It's not a "you were bad, you shouldn't have been looking" laugh but rather a "made you look and I'm gloating" laugh. I'm not sure, given my bias, but I think half the restaurant just stopped talking.

I'm glad I'm standing one foot ahead of the other because I'm pretty sure there's no blood left in my legs. I should just keel over like a delicate flower, but I don't. Miraculously.

I recover shakily and peel off my jacket, pulling out my wallet and phone. She looks admiringly at me. I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow in question.

"You look great," she says. "I wondered what you'd have that wasn't a suit."

"You look spectacular," I say. "Very sexy," I purr.

"Thank you." She smiles.

I guide her to our table, my hand high enough on her back that my thumb rests on her bare skin.

The hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life was act calm and collected during dinner when all I wanted to do was carry Kate into my bed and spend the night making mad, passionate love to her. Unless she's just being perverse, which could happen, the dress is a statement that her thoughts are probably similar to my own. I hope.

The restaurant itself doesn't live up to my usual tastes. The services is top-notch, but the chef is not. I'm disappointed but hope Kate is pleased enough.

We decide to share a chocolate mousse for dessert. When it's delivered, I slide it toward me.

"Come closer," I say, moving my chair toward her. She scoots toward me, reaching for a spoon. I slide the second spoon away and dip my spoon into the mousse, then lift it to her lips.

She opens her mouth for me, allowing me to slide the spoon past her lips, her tongue lapping at the mousse until the spoon is clean. I remove the spoon, starting to dip it back into the mousse, but she bats my hand away.

"Give me the spoon," she says. I hand it to her, then she puts it down for a moment. "Something's been bugging me all night."

"Oh?"

She reaches over and unbuttons two more of my shirt buttons. "It's completely unfair that I'm the one showing all the skin here."

"If only I'd known, we could have solved that problem earlier," I tease.

She picks the spoon back up and dips it into the mousse, holding it up for me. I see a suit out of the corner of my eye and a familiar stride. Justin. I don't look at him, and he doesn't approach. Instead, I put my elbow on the table and lean on my hand then look adoringly at Kate.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Enjoying myself," I admit. It's my turn, so I feed her a bite. Each time, we try to be a little bit more outrageous and over the top with our enjoyment of the mousse until I feed her the very last bite.

When I pay the bill, she gestures for my wallet, which I hand to her.

"Very slim," she says.

"I keep it uncomplicated," I say.

My black Amex is already with the server. She pulls out my driver's license and Kaiser card, the medical marijuana card tucked neatly behind. She raises an eyebrow but says nothing and puts the three items back. Three of my business cards occupy the next slot and my ATM card the remaining slot on that side. The other side has my Amex, a Visa Signature card, and a World Mastercard. The latter two are a hotel card and an airline card, respectively.

She opens the bill section of my wallet to find two crisp $100 bills. Nothing else in my wallet. She double-checks.

"Simple."

"I like to keep my wallet that way," I say.

"What about the rest?" she teases, wanting to know if I can put up with her.

"I prefer to keep all my complicated eggs in one basket," I say. "Speaking of, let me take you back to my place and make love to you."

"Wow, now there's a conversational transition."

I shrug. "You are complicated. I like that."

"Why?"

I sigh. "Because you come across like a real person and you don't try to hide that. I'm never sure with people who seem to be simple if they're just boring or dumb, or if they're cunning and someone I need to watch out for. I like knowing what I'm getting."

"Oh, you think you're getting me?" A flash of anger crosses her face.

"That's not what I meant," I soothe. "I've seen a lot of game playing, and you're not that person. Next time you're at my place, listen to the voice mail on my home answering machine. I've only ever given the number to a handful of people: you, Leo, Lauren, and my parents. I only ever listen to the recordings because my mother occasionally forgets and uses that number. But you'd be surprised at how many women call and leave messages for me on an unlisted number that they shouldn't have at all. I've changed the number since my last ex. So I keep a list of who's called on that line so I know to never, ever go out with them."

"Wow. How many a week?"

"Between five and ten, usually with one or two repeats."

"You must be encouraging them somehow," Kate accuses.

"By occasionally going out to dinner alone? By occasionally handing out my business card that doesn't have that number on it? By being obviously rich, successful, and single?" I bat my eyelashes. "I can't help that I'm cute," I mug.

"Okay," she says.

"Okay?"

"I'll go back with you to your place, if only because I want to hear these messages. No promises on the rest."

"Fair enough." Not the answer I'd prefer and not how I'd hoped to get her to agree to come to my place, but it's something we can proceed from - and that's the important part.

#

We're in the car enroute to my place when I broach the subject. "So, what are all the hoops that people are supposed to jump through before they decide they love someone?"

She looks surprised by my question. "What?"

"You said there are other things that need to happen first. What are those things?"

"Are you serious?"

"Katie, you spend all your days working around the 'supposed tos' in the legal system, so I'm curious what your 'supposed to' list contains. And why."

"You sound disappointed that I have a list."

"No, I'm just surprised that you have a list. You. A list. One of these things is not like the other."

"I don't know..."

"Mmm?"

"Look, I keep hearing that you're supposed to do this, and you're supposed to do that, and ... I don't know."

I stop the car at a red light and look at her. "How long did you and Justin know each other before you said you loved each other?"

She looks down. "Two weeks? Three? We married about six weeks after we met. Maybe seven. You know how I am with calendars."

I squeak, "Six weeks?"

She looks out the window. "Uh huh."

"And you think we don't know each other well enough."

"Well, Justin and I had a lot of sex," she blurts out, then flushes crimson. She opens her mouth to say something, thinks better of it, and closes her mouth.

I tease her, "Well, Katie, if that's how you insist on getting to know a guy-"

She doesn't say anything. My attempt at humor has fallen flat, leaving it more awkward than it was before.

The light turns green, so I concentrate on driving the two remaining blocks, wondering how I'm going to get past this awkward phase of the evening. An idea comes to mind and I have to suppress the smile. As I pull into my parking space, I note that Kate is still bright red.

I turn the car off and say to her, "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"No, I did that all by myself." I get out and open her car door, helping her out of the car.

She lets me hold her in the elevator, but is still awkward, so I don't press for a kiss. I don't want to be That Guy. When we get to my door, I unlock it and let her enter first.

Kate steps in confidently, flicking on the light like it's her own place. I hang our coats, toss my wallet on the

I cue music on my phone, then plug it into my stereo system.

"What _are_ you doing?"

"You'll know in a few seconds," I say. I lean over for the remote and turn the stereo components on, then start shuffling until the music starts.

"Getting to know you," I sing along, doing a soft shoe around Kate, singing along with the lyrics.

I slide across the floor on my knees, singing, "Getting to hope you like me." I end the line looking up at her, mugging for her, and she chuckles.

I continue dancing, pulling her along during the second verse. After a moment's hesitation, she joins in. She chuckles louder and louder. At the end of the song, she's singing and dancing in my arms.

The song stops and I hold her, both of us breathing heavily, her petite frame in that wicked yellow dress panting against me. A drop of sweat falls from my brow onto one of her breasts. I use the distraction to lean in for a kiss.

The kiss is long and slow and sweaty and hot, and she still tastes like expensive chocolate.

When we finally break apart for a deeper breath, she pokes a finger at my sternum. "You promised to show me something." I don't know what she's referring to. I've made two offers, but no promises that I'm aware of.

I tilt my head.

"Your answering machine," she clarifies. "This I gotta hear."

I lead her into my small home office and sit on the desk. Six messages, the machine blinks.

Kate presses play.


End file.
